What the Weather Brought
by Jinko
Summary: Thunderstorms. Mickey could never get used to them. Ian tries to distract Mickey from why he dislikes thunderstorms so much. PWP oneshot.


**So! This is my first fic in the Shameless fandom, wish me luck?**

**I know I've been so incredibly absent with my fanfiction. I've been writing other things for such a long time now, but I got into Tumblr, which, of course, dragged me into the Gallavich world, which I now love. It gave me a shit-tonne to think about lately. I was just cleared of any cancer after finding a lump in my breast and holy crap that motivates you into getting your arse in gear. **

**Enjoy and look me up on Tumblr. I'm jinkohamilton there. Twitter, too.**

* * *

**What the Weather Brings**

**Jinko**

* * *

Thunderstorms. Mickey could never get used to them. They reminded him of _her_. She died the night of a thunderstorm, driving home from seeing her own mother. It had been raining and the road was wet and she lost control of the car and had crashed it.

A decade or so later still had this drowning effect on him. He'd feel heavy and tired and spent most storms glaring at walls from where he'd cocooned himself in his bed with the doonas swamping him. He'd occasionally wander out of his bedroom for food or to use the bathroom but he had no energy for anything else.

Only he and Mandy got this way. Their brothers and their father didn't feel the need to sleep the storms away and only ever seemed like they thought about her on her birthday. The anniversary of her death or Christmas or Thanksgiving or Easter were overlooked in the Milkovich household as something sad because Mama Milkovich wasn't around anymore — it was only her birthday for the others.

But even as a twenty-three year-old, living in the apartment above Kash and Grab with Ian Gallagher, he curled up when the storm started to brew and stayed there until it was gone.

Ian was more than a little shocked when he saw it the first time. It was their first summer living together so it was the first time he'd seen Mickey through a summer storm.

The clouds had been building all day until the rain started to come down heavily in the afternoon. Mickey had closed the store early and had retreated upstairs to where Linda no longer lived (she left four months ago, had _told_ the boys to move in and had given them an appropriate price for rent). Ian had followed behind and had found Mickey curled up on the couch, already under the crocheted quilt that was normally slung across the back of it, with the remote control in his hand for the television.

"What's up?" Ian asked and slipped in next to him.

"Not feeling too good," Mickey had shrugged and actually leant across to press their shoulders against each other. His legs curled upwards to his chest and his feet were perched on the edge of the couch.

"You were feeling pretty awesome this morning." Ian slipped his hand between Mickey's knees.

Mickey huffed at the memory of their pre-breakfast sex and flicked through the channels.

"Can I get you anything?" Ian asked and pressed his palm to Mickey's forehead. Mickey, of course, jerked away like he'd been electrocuted and swatted Ian's hand away. "Chicken soup? An aspirin? A hot water bottle?"

"Fuck you." It was said with a laugh and Ian leant in to press a kiss to his temple. "Just start cooking dinner."

A chuckle came from Ian's throat and he went off to the kitchen to do just that.

* * *

The storm didn't end until the middle of the next day. Mickey and Ian ate beef ravioli on the couch and Mickey went straight from the couch to bed and he stayed there, even when he was awake. Ian took care of the store and actually brought chicken soup up for Mickey anyway.

It wasn't until the afternoon when Mickey appeared downstairs in the store. The sun had come out for just a moment; he'd shrugged on his security jacket and he'd sat down on the stool behind the counter while Ian restacked the shelves.

Honestly, Mickey wasn't a moody person. Angry was his default setting, as Ian had learnt, but he was very rarely mopey outside of the holidays when he missed his mother.

This mood he was in, slouched over the counter, not even reading a magazine he swiped from the stand, was mopey. Ian would never say that to his face, but Mickey was mopey. He only looked attentive when the sun shone through the glass.

"Still feeling bad?" Ian asked just as a couple of teens came into the store. Mickey waved him off and rung up the purchases the kids made. They didn't own the minimart but they certainly ran it together.

"My wife sent me up some chicken soup earlier. Fixed me up nice and good."

The clouds darkened not too long after that, as did Mickey's mood. When he noticed it, it was Ian who closed the store early and dragged Mickey upstairs. The redhead microwaved cheeseburgers and chicken rolls for the two of them and they ate them in bed with the covers wrapped around them while sitting against the headboard. Thunder clapped and Mickey curled in again.

"You gonna tell me what's going on?" Ian asked when Mickey was halfway through his second roll. "The only time I see you get this bad is when it's her birthday."

And Mickey wasn't really one to break the expectations that others have of him, so when he scrunched his nose up and turned away, Ian wasn't surprised.

"Talk to me."

"You wanna braid my hair, too?"

"I just wanna know if you're alright."

Mickey finished off his roll and started in on Ian's burger.

"I'm fine."

Another boom of thunder shook the apartment and Mickey choked on the burger.

"I'm not…I'm not scared of this shit." He pointed to the ceiling to point at the storm.

"Never said you were."

Lightning lit up the room.

"I don't like it, that's all," said Mickey and glared a little pathetically when Ian took his burger back and ate what was left of it.

"Fine then," Ian shrugged and moved the plates from the bed and onto the bedside table. When he came back to Mickey, his lips found Mickey's neck straight away, where he mouthed and kissed and licked and bit and sucked until Mickey started to relax.

"What're you doing?" He didn't push Ian away, though, and moved his head back to give Ian more access.

"Giving you something else to think about the next time we have a storm."

A rumble of laughter came from Mickey's chest and he squirmed around until he was on his back and Ian was between his legs.

"Fine, but when you get all ghosty the next time I spill ketchup in the kitchen, I'll give you a distraction."

Ian hummed and sucked a hickey onto his neck, right where everyone would be able to see it and slipped his hands under Mickey's shirt to pull the tank top over his head. Ian loved the summer. Mickey always wore tank tops.

The next rumble came from the sky and Ian lowered his mouth to nibble on Mickey's collarbone.

Usually when they were in bed together (or bent over or on the kitchen floor or in the shower), it was quick. They didn't spend any time exploring each other. They knew everything they could about each other's body but they never took the time to put that all together.

Ian would take that time now to take Mickey apart.

After coming home from being dishonourably discharged from the army (they found out, of course), Ian had let his hair grow longer and that was exactly how Mickey loved it. His fingers tangled in Ian's hair and he tugged tightly when Ian moved low enough to find a nipple to bite on. The hand that wasn't in Ian's hair wrapped around his bicep and his nails dug into his skin. Not many had the chance to know how sensitive Mickey's nipples were. Ian knew the best way to get Mickey to arch his back was to play with them just right.

"Christ," Mickey hissed and dug his nails in just that little bit deeper when Ian tugged gently.

Ian dragged his nails down Mickey's sides, kissing his way down, until his fingers curled around Mickey's sweatpants. He eased them down and over his hard dick and his hips and sucked red and purple marks where he could but stayed away from Mickey's erection.

"Would you hurry up down there?"

Ian looked up with his shit-eating grin and pulled Mickey's pants down around his knees. The older man shifted his hips to help and used the hand in his hair to push him closer to his cock.

Ian gave it a quick kiss before kissing down the inside of his thigh, following his pants.

"What kind of girl are you? Just get on with it."

"Wouldn't be here if I was a girl," Ian pointed out and nipped at Mickey's knee. He pulled the rest of his clothes off and made his way back up Mickey's body, pausing only to scrape his teeth over the old scar on Micky's right thigh.

Fuck, that gun had brought them all of this.

Letting Mickey take over for just a moment, Ian licked a long stripe up the underside of his cock, circled around the head and wrapped his lips around it before sucking the length into his mouth. He bobbed and when he pulled back Mickey's hips followed with a keening whine in the back of his throat. It was one of Ian's favourite sounds, knowing that he was the only person to hear that. If he had his way, he'd be the only one to hear ever hear it.

Ian loved Mickey's cock. He loved the length of it, the shape of it, the weight of it. He loved the scent of it; the taste. He loved the flush of it and how it reacted to his every touch and how the right touch would make Mickey's breath hitched. It fit perfectly in his hands and his mouth and if Mickey gave him the chance, he'd spend every moment of every day worshipping the organ.

And at this point, Mickey was letting him.

Mickey's hands moved from Ian's head down to his shoulders and his arms. Despite not being in the army anymore or aspiring to be in the army anymore, he still kept up his training and was filled out like he was a soldier and Mickey loved that about him. He loved feeling the muscles under the skin and he loved the strength Ian had.

So Ian made sure his arms were within Mickey's reach. He moved his hands up Mickey's body to dig in to his firm stomach; to circle his ribs; to hold him tight and tease his nipples and Mickey's hands roamed over the skin he gave. Sucking him off would have been a hell of a lot easier if he had a hand around Mickey's dick but Ian didn't care for getting him off quickly. He wanted to distract Mickey for as long as he would have to so he didn't have to be upset.

Mickey was shifting a little, trying to thrust up into Ian's mouth a little. Ian pressed his forearm against Mickey's torso to pin him down, to stop him from gagging him, and sucked harder.

Surprisingly, Mickey was vocal in bed. He would gasp and groan and curse and moan the closer he got to coming and Ian adulated every sound.

Ian pulled off and Mickey's dick slapped wetly against his stomach before Ian nuzzled down it to suck on his balls. He sucked each into his mouth, tonguing at them, kissing them and made his way back up to draw Mickey back in.

"Gallagher…"

"Roll over," Ian said instead and gave Mickey the room to do that.

And Mickey did. Like the cockslut he was, Mickey turned onto his knees with his face in the pillows, pushing his arse up as high as it would go.

For a kid once labelled the dirtiest white boy in America, Mickey was fastidious about keeping himself clean below the belt. Even before he regularly had his hole abused, he made sure he was always very clean. That had excited Ian more than he expected. He'd been obsessed with rimming for years after seeing it in porn and knowing that his boyfriend kept himself compulsively clean gave him the go-ahead every time he wanted to go for it.

Ian got on his knees behind Mickey, spread his cheeks and dove in head-first. Mickey's groan was muffled by the pillow but it was more than enough to nearly make him blow his load. He had to reach down and give his balls a firm yank to give himself the pain he needed to hold back.

Ian licked around Mickey's hole with broad stripes, getting him as wet as he could. He suckled and he slurped and he kissed that little pucker and pressed his fingers into Mickey's mouth, even though the angle was strange. Mickey lapped at the two fingers presented to him between gasps and pants and squirmed as if thrusting in the air would put more pressure on his now-ignored cock.

"Fuck; get on me, Gallagher," Mickey hissed when Ian's fingers pulled out of his mouth and Ian laughed against his skin.

His request went unfulfilled as Ian slipped a wet finger in next to his tongue. Ian licked as deeply as Mickey's body would allow him to and Mickey keened lowly, almost loudly enough to drown out the sound of the booming thunder. A second finger joined and Ian jabbed them just so and Mickey very nearly wailed when they grazed his sweet spot.

Ian knew Mickey could get off from this alone. It had happened several times over the years and judging from the sounds Mickey was making, Ian was sure he was close.

"In me — get in me now."

Ian laughed again, this time pulling his face away from Mickey, and wiggled his fingers teasingly. "I am."

"Fuck it," Mickey snapped and reached back to smack at Ian, "you know what I mean."

"Hmm," Ian agreed and pressed sucking kisses halfway up Mickey's spine. "Lube."

Mickey reached over to the nightstand blindly, slapping his hand around until he found the knob of the drawer's handle. He grabbed the bottle and threw it behind him, getting Ian in the side of the neck with it.

Whatever. He was aiming at the redhead's face. The neck would do. When he turned his head to look at Ian, he could see in the dark that Ian was grinning and when the lightning lit up the room, he could see that grin was that of a ginger Cheshire fucking Cat.

With one last kiss to Mickey's slightly-stretched hole, Ian pulled back to warm the lube between his fingers. He was forgiving enough for that. He warmed it up and slipped two fingers back in before squeezing in the third.

Mickey writhed when the pads of Ian's fingers went straight for his prostate again and his hand finally moved south.

Ian grabbed his hand to stop that. "No." He straightened along Mickey's back and bit into his shoulder before he peeled away to strip his clothes off. The moment he was done, he was climbing back onto the bed behind Mickey, had slicked his cock and was pressing in.

And Mickey, the man who was ever-predictable in bed, was pushing back against him. Ian grabbed Mickey's hips to steady him, to stop him from moving, and bottomed out with one strong slam that brought their pelvises flush together.

Mickey cried with it and brought his hand down to his face so he could bite into the back of his palm.

Ian, who was normally silent save for a grunt or two, groaned and set a punishing pace, snapping his hips into Mickey's arse and using his hands to drag him where he wanted him to go and Mickey rocked back into him and let him do whatever it was he wanted to.

Mickey pushed up onto his elbows — Ian leant forward, covering Mickey's back with his body and gathered their arms together. Their fingers wrapped around each other and slid under the pillow. Ian buried his face in between Mickey's shoulder blades and kissed the skin there. The salt of Mickey's sweat was one of Ian's favourite tastes. He could never get enough of it.

"Touch me," Mickey ordered and Ian tightened his grip on the older man's hands.

"You're gonna come like this," Ian told him, pushing himself up so he could say it in his ear.

A deep groan rumbled from Mickey's chest — rivalling that of the thunder outside — and his head hung low so his chin hit his collarbone. "Maybe if you could…" he broke off with a choked off moan when Ian changed his angle. "…if you could _aim_ a little better, I might."

That kiss Ian had given him turned into a bite.

"Better?"

The restraint in his voice pissed off Mickey. He tried to match it. "Y-yeah. There. Harder."

Slight hitch but who the hell could complain when they were getting pounded?

And Ian listened. He listened and he fucked into Mickey harder. And Mickey just about howled, tightening his grip on Ian's hands.

Ian could feel Mickey trembling. He could feel that Mickey was getting closer with every movement they made together and he could feel his own orgasm beginning to build in the base of his spine.

"Come on — fucking come on. Fuck me," Mickey growled out and Ian grunted against him. He pulled Mickey back, sitting on his heels, so Mickey was in his lap. Ian's hands shaped themselves to Mickey's hips, guiding him up and down and Mickey reached back to hold on to Ian's arms again.

One of Ian's hands came up to tweak Mickey's nipple, rolling it and pinching it and that was it for Mickey. His breath caught; he let his head fall backwards onto Ian's shoulder and he came. Ian didn't slow, not for a moment, and kept pushing up until his own climax hit him.

"Jesus Christ," Mickey sighed after their breathing and their heart rates had settled, still perched on Ian's lap with his softening dick still inside him. The storm was continuing on outside but Mickey seemed a lot more content with it.

"Yeah," Ian agreed, pressing a kiss against Mickey's temple.

"Is that gonna happen during every storm?"

"If you want it to."

Mickey turned into the kiss this time, catching Ian's lips in his own before clambering off his perch. He collapsed forward onto his pillow and curled up into it, barely moving when Ian pulled the soiled covers from under him. They wouldn't need it tonight; they'd probably have to turn the air conditioning on and suffer from that insanely high bill instead.

But once the blankets were thrown aside and Ian was curling towards Mickey, it didn't matter.

It didn't matter because Mickey was no longer looking like the weather had taken his mother away. He looked like it had brought him something good.


End file.
